Harvest at Joe The Wino's In the Time of Drought

The best harvest party in all of San Diego County was at Joe the Wino’s estate of course where as many as two hundred volunteers assembled shortly after dawn for a champagne toast and a quick lesson in grape picking 101.

“This is a clipper,” said Joe, “And this is your finger. May the two never meet in our vineyard.”

“Amen,” rejoined the crowd.

“If you see a raisin, think of it as a sugar pill that will enhance the fermentation – put it in the bucket,” Joe said. “Try to keep the leaves out and just pick everything you see. We have a team of quality control experts who will inspect every grape before it goes in.” Joe raised his glass of Dom Perignon champagne and the assembled raised their cups of Costco sparkling wine. “May you have fun, be safe, and let the harvest begin. Cheers!”

“Cheers!” And the herd downed their glasses picked up buckets and clippers and headed out into the vines.

This event – a social high point for the year for many attendees as Joe the Wino opened his wine cellar to any and all of legal age (to the consternation of Janet who used her best efforts to cut costs and even suggested substituting fish bait for the salmon roe that decorated the canapés) was the pinnacle of country living and quite possibly one of the last bastions of free love for adults of a certain age in San Diego.   Marriages resulted from couples who had met at the harvest party. A gal might walk up to a guy and ask “May I pick with you?” while a guy might ask a gal with a heavy bucket of grapes at her feet, “May I carry that for you?” And then they would chat while picking or carrying and find out they had something in common and a bottle of wine later new friendships were sealed under the olive grove adjacent to the vineyard and promises were made. And lest anyone forget the venue’s mantra a sign at the top of the vineyard proclaimed “Zero to Naked in 1.2 Bottles of Wine.”  For a day at least Bacchus and Venus ruled and Fidel was left with the task of picking up panties and thongs from the vineyard floor the next work day.

Fidel – wearing a freshly ironed black eye patch over the eye he lost - was commander of the Gator during Harvest – that is, Joe the Wino’s Gator – driving it as his own. He slammed on the breaks and skidded to a halt two feet behind Bootlegger’s knee. “Que pasa amigo?!” he called.

“Amigo my ass. How are you?”

“Fine. Did you get a new dog?”

“No, but I got a coyote. He’s eating my grapes. At first, I thought it was you stealing my grapes, but I found out it was a coyote.”

“They don’t eat grapes.”

“They don’t eat your grapes because yours are no good. They love our grapes because they’re delicious.”

“You should put water out for him, he’s thirsty.” Fidel always left buckets of fresh water out for the coyotes, so they wouldn’t chew through the irrigation drip lines of his clients.

“He ignores the water and eats the grapes.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Shoot it.”

“Can I shoot it for you?”

“No.”

Fidel was disappointed and he shot Bootlegger a zinger. “Have you seen Bill lately? He’s selling a lot of wine.”

“So I heard.”

“How’s your wine selling?” Another insult.

“I have no time to sell it. I have to work for a living" - he didn’t need to add unlike some people. Fidel took the jab and countered.

“You should get a tasting room.”

“You should sell our throw-away wine to your friends.”

“Let me build a tasting room for you. You have a lot of money.”

“I had a lot of money and spent it all on wine, women and you, bastard. I gave you all of my money and now my vineyard wiring is falling apart.”

“You should let me come over and fix it.”

“So I can give you more money? Gracias non.”

“Do you want me to come over and shoot the coyote for you?”

“A coyote shooting a coyote? Gracias non.” A vineyardista picking grapes accidently butted her butt against his in the pathway. “Good morning,” he said to her with a broad smile. “Let’s do that dance again - the vineyard bump.”  Anything could happen in the vineyard that day with women and wine and men and the grapes. She giggled, returned the smile and walked by as Bootlegger admired her shapely form and vineyard sway. He closed his eyes and inhaled the natural aromas from her wake and wondered what scent his winemaking muse 3,000 miles away was wearing at that moment.

“Hey amigo, you want to go to Tijuana?” asked Fidel. “I’ll show you around. They have a lot of pretty senoritas there.”

“When Donald Trump is elected president he’ll send you back to Mexico.”

 “Puta madre,” he spat at Trump’s name.

“How’s your knee?” Bootlegger asked.

“It’s pretty good. I can walk up and down hills again.  I’m going to get the other one fixed after the harvest season. Then I can come over and work for you.”

“That must cost a lot of money?”

“No, it’s almost free.”

“I give you all my money and now I have to pay for your health care with my taxes?”

Fidel switched gears. “You should get another dog.”

“You should pay taxes and pay your people fairly – el Pirata.”

A helicopter circled the vineyard. One of volunteers who lived in an apartment downtown asked, “What’s that?”

“It’s the water police,” Bootlegger answered. “They’re looking for water hogs.” He called over to Fidel, “Hey amigo, these vines are green and the clusters are pretty big – how much water did you cut back?”

“Fifteen percent.”

“Fifteen percent this month?” he asked surprised but not surprised. The mandate was 35%. “We cut our water by 50%.”

“Your vines look like shit – you should let me take care of your vines. I’ll make them green.”

“Keep your hands off of our vines. Our grapes taste good. That helicopter is after you, man.”

“It’s not my fault,” said Fidel, “It’s Janet. She won’t cut the water.”

“If the water police don’t get you, it will be immigration. You should pay your people more so they don’t rat on you.”

“You should mind your own business” and with that Fidel pressed the accelerator of the Gator and called out heh heh hehhh with a pirate’s laugh shouting “out of my way” and as he pulled out he admonished one of his crew taking a sip of water as temperatures rose, “Hey, stop looking at the senoritas and get back to work.”

“Si patron,” replied Rodrigo cursing under his breath as Fidel sped down the hill “hijo de puta” and went back to work. “That fucking son of bitch riding around like a big shot in that fucking gator ….” 

At the bottom of the hill, one of his crew lifted hundred pound lugs of Brunello-clone grapes into the Gator and Fidel drove the cargo to the shaded crush pad at the top of the hill where another day laborer lifted the lugs and set them on a scale as Janet, Joe the Wino’s spouse, counted every pound. Fidel walked over to an ice cooler used by the gringos, grabbed a beer and took a long drink as the swarm of locust volunteers worked their way up the hill picking ten tons of grapes one bunch at a time while a covey of Guatemalan women he assembled - paying them half the minimum wage and pocketing the rest – diligently inspected each and every berry under Janet’s watchful eyes before sending the perfect ones to the crusher and damaged ones to the compost.....

To be continued. (C) Copyright 2015 All Rights Reserved. Craig Justice. "About That Wine I Gave You"

Memories of the 2014 Harvest

What a difference a month makes. Just a few weeks ago, we were up to our knees - and eyeballs - in grapes and a blasting heat wave. Now, the weather has cooled, the vines are fading and the 2014 vintage is fermenting, slowly, and so full of promise. New barrels have been ordered - hybrid French & American oak barrels - and when they arrive next month we will begin the process of racking and blending. We have plans for a tasty Petite Sirah - Tempranillo blend; an uncommonly good Grenache based wine enhanced with Tempranillo and Petite-Sirah;and a big, powerful, towering Zinfandel-Aglianico blend. Meantime, it's time for some battonage - stirring up the lees, or sediment, in the holding tanks of the new wine to extract more flavors and to create a fantastic mouth feel. And when I'm in the winery, I'll take the opportunity to top-up and taste the 2013 barrels - I barrel tasted the 2013 Petite Sirah yesterday afternoon - it was amazing!

In case you think I get this excited about all of our wines - then obviously we haven't met yet. I've made plenty of bad wine the last 10 years - so I'm grateful for the good.  And now with some experience, I like to think we've finally figured out what works, just in time for our winery's 10th Anniversary.

Don't you just love how easy it is to create video memories with iMovie? I couldn't resist, so here's a short video of the 2014 harvest. Thank you to everyone who helped. It takes a village to make - and enjoy - good wine. Cheers!




To learn more about Blue-Merle Winery please visit http://www.bluemerlewinery.com

Rooted To The Vine

Agliancio (nick named "Ugly
Hanako" just before harvest
Sept 22 2012

When netting the vines the other month, which seems like years ago, I noticed that the leaves of shoots we cut and left to the ground turned brown and dried within days. Despite the oppressively hot weather, the leaves flourished as part of the vine, but when cut soon faded.

A shoot cut from the vine quickly withers and dies.

With the changing of the seasons from Summer to Autumn and another harvest upon us, we've been running around like crazy and are exhausted. For a moment, the grapes have been picked. There are no fermentations to punch down. No batches of wine to press. No barrels to bottle. For a moment, there is peace, the eye of a hurricane, before the frenzy will start again. A moment for reflection, to remember the day of changing seasons, the memorial of our planting, to give thanks for our blessings and for all those who helped us reach this point, for the friends and neighbors who helped pick, for the workers who carried heavy loads we couldn't possibly move ourselves, for the parents who nurtured us, and  a never ending list of people, giving them prayers and thanksgiving. Yes, we built this vineyard, and we know we didn't do it alone.

If a shoot cut from the vine quickly withers, should we not live our lives fully rooted in the vineyard?

Rising sun, raising the nets.

It has been our custom each harvest to re-read from the simple liturgy prepared by Father Bill Lieber of Grace Episcopal Church (San Marcos, CA) for the Blessing of The Blue-Merle Vineyard some 5 years ago, but in the rush to gather the grapes before the heat rises there were no champagne toasts, no parties (the vineyardista, still remembering the effects of that heart stoppage in early June and insisting on no events), no blessing of the workers, nor the grapes, nor of our friends who came to assist (despite the vineyardista's wishes, except for silent prayers I managed to sneak in before dawn before everyone started to arrive). When it was over, I realized the customary prayers and blessings were dropped this year.


I retrieved the printed liturgy from its drawer and read:

"Holy God, let me always be rooted in you so that I may live in you and you in me.

Bless me so that your grace may flow through me, allowing me to bear your fruit to a hungry and helpless world.

As I wonder, prune me of all that inhibits your growth in me.

Let me do nothing apart from you so that your joy may be complete in me. Amen."

Bluey, ready to begin
his hunt for grapes.

The vineyardista whose heart stopped after working in the vines June 6th and was back out there when she returned from the hospital one week later, has been outside among her vines everyday since, even with temperatures exceeding 100 degrees. Live by the vine. Die by the vine.

Vineyard is art. Vineyard is life.

Brigit (over 80 years old), Madonna and Maggie.

Reese tackles Aglianico.

Jim clips a grape and not his
finger.

Madonna shows a prize. Next
to her his Luce.

Stephanie brings home the Zin.

A Vintner's Prayer

Twenty-five people joined us for yesterday's picking which yielded over 1,000 lbs. of Tempranillo and 700 lbs. of Petite Sirah grapes. One way to honor those who perished on 9/11 (and the members of our armed forces along with the innocent who have been slain in the War On Terror) is to celebrate life while we have it and what better way to do that than with the harvest, at the time of the harvest moon, and to sip wines made from those same vines in earlier years. Our vines are in their 5th leaf and at their planting Father Bill Lieber from Grace Episcopal Church  San Marcos, CA prepared a "Liturgy of the Vine" to bless the infant vineyard.  It has been our custom during each harvest (this being our third) to read from that liturgy and give thanks and praise for all that is good in life.

"Holy God - Beloved Trinity -  let me always be rooted in you so that I may live in you and you in me. Bless me so that your grace may flow through me, allowing me to bear your fruit to a hungry and helpless world. As I wander, prune me of all that inhibits your growth in me. Let me do nothing apart from you so that your joy may be complete in me. Amen."

The Vineyard Blessing

"Dear Lord, You are the One who blesses us with abundant life. You are the One who brings the seasons by which seed is planted, matures and is harvested.  So we pray for your blessing upon this vineyard, that the plants may be vigorous and healthy. We pray for your blessing upon the vineyard owners and workers as they tend the vineyard. May they be diligent as they tend the plants and appreciative of your blessing at the time of harvest. We ask your blessing on all who share in the gift of the fruit of the vine. Let us enjoy the celebration of life as you set an example in John 2:1-11 when Jesus was invited to a wedding feast in Cana where he performed His first miracle. For you are the one who brings abundant life as our redeemer and savior. May the blessing of God, Gather, Son and Holy Spirit be given you and to these fields now and forever. Amen."

What Makes A Great Picking Party?

Champagne toast & receiving
instructions.

A swarm of locusts.

Right on schedule, Merlot Mike held the great Merlot festival on the Sunday before Labor Day, no small feat considering weather variations from year to year. This is the 7th year we've attended the harvest at Escondido Sunrise Vineyard and it's quite an event. About 80 people were on hand ranging in age from 8 months to 80 years, from as far away as Oklahoma and Australia who picked over 10,000 lbs in 3 hours. There were winemakers with their fans (including San Diego's Blue Door Winery which makes their best-selling $35 wine from this Merlot) and the Blue Thong Society, a civic organization. And of course, the cast of characters from Blue-Merle Country made an appearance to sign autographs and pick including Joe The Wino (fresh from meetings with Syrah Palin), Coyote Karen (a vineyardista dressed to the nines & freshly perfumed), Celestial Sandra chaperoning the USC cheer girls, Jim and the Vietnam-era mule 4-wheel drive vehicle, and the arch villain Fidel (that rascal).

As a kid, I used to hear stories from college students who went to France to pick grapes at the harvest. Now, we just walk to the neighbors (a bit more convenient than the trip to Europe) and what could be more fun? If you've never participated in a grape harvest, I suggest you find one and go. It's good entertainment for the whole family.

What makes for a good harvest party? Here's what I've learned from Merlot Mike over the years, with a couple of other ideas thrown in.  What recommendations do you have for us to make it better?

Check List
-- Open nets the night before (so the guests can right to work harvesting grapes)
-- Prepare buckets and clippers for the guests

Relaxing after harvest, before
the crush.

-- Blessing of the vines
-- Champagne toast (ask Jim bring his sword to make a grand show) and a good warm up speech
-- Lots of bottled water
-- Shady area to rest
-- Truckloads of food (Merlot Mike's better half Nancy makes this brisket to die for each ear). Ask the guests to bring a side dish if they are able. Need lots of food to soak up that wine.
-- Big, healthy males with strong backs
-- Nubile maidens to do some ceremonial stomping

Merlot Mike (R) with
Stone Beer in hand
with Blue Door
Winery

-- A keg of Stone Brewery Arrogant Bastard Ale (for enjoying after the picking)
-- Quality control team to pick out any large stems or leaves that make it through the crusher
-- A scale (to weigh the harvest as it comes in and the must)
-- A hose down team (to hose buckets and containers as needed)
-- A Gator, Polaris or another vehicle to haul grapes if long distances must be covered
--Samples of wine made from the vineyard.

Instructions for New Pickers
-- #1 Don't Cut Your Finger! (Merlot Mike always invites Veterinarian Don to be on hand just in case. The problem, according to Mike, is the guy who last got his finger sewed on by Don hasn't stopped barking.)
-- Raisins are good. Throw them in.
-- Leaves are bad. Keep them out of the buckets.
--If a bunch falls on the ground, pick it up, dust it off and throw it into the bin.
--A 5-gallon pail can weigh 15 lbs. or more when full. Don't strain yourself.
--Do taste the grapes.
--If your dog eats grapes, keep him at home (grapes can kill a dog).
--Stay hydrated (it takes good beer to make good wine), wear sun glasses and a hat and enjoy yourself!

What do you think makes for a great picking party?

The Sign.

My Unrequited French Love: Petit Verdot

Gerry,

When I was living in Paris in my early 20s I always knew that I would marry a French woman. I imagined she would be petite like so many mignon gals from France I knew at the time but I never foresaw her surnom would be Verdot. At last, I have found her, the most fragrant of the fair. Maligned in Bordeaux where she is used only sparingly in blends, she has blossomed in San Diego County in your vineyard. I can't think of anyone who doesn't like la mademoiselle who has tasted le vin we have made from the Petit Verdot grapes of your estate. Ma maitresse que je l'aime!

As for the 2010 vintage, she presents certain issues. As Coyote Karen would say, perhaps it's menopause. Namely, in your attempt to restructure your vineyard this year you have been more than parsimonious with water. You have been Robespierre and simply cut it off and the vines have had to make due. What you have achieved are berries that are small, indeed, we could say petit. And, if your aim was to stress the vines, that too has been achieved. In the three previous years we have picked these grapes on average in the middle of September. Now we are in the middle of October, and we will be fighting the bees and the yellow jackets for more than our fair share. Yet, despite the long hang time and the mini heat waves, the sugars just don't seem to mount with these grapes. Last year, they reached 23 brix. But, a week ago, you were still at 22 brix. The bees, causing damage now with each berry invaded another pimple on my lady's complexion, tell me it's time to harvest. Just to be sure, we walked the vineyard, taking a random sample of 60 berries, 10 each from the six rows. The refractometer indicates a shade over 22 brix. The pH meter says 3.53 and the acid TA measurement is .68 The pH and acid readings are good and although the brix are a little less than perfect, what woman is? I'll take her, and perhaps by grabbing those raisins from lack of water and throwing those into the mix she'll become a little more sweet, like giving your date a box of chocolates.

We have learned from experience it's a challenge for Lady Petit Verdot to stand on her own. But with just a slight touch of make-up she is airbrushed to absolute perfection achieving supermodel status. Our aim this year is to take that dry-farmed Cab of yours, which we just pressed the other night and is so full of promise, and blend some of mademoiselle Verdot with it and with some of the Malbec to achieve the finest "Merleatage" ever created by a dog (or at least by a Blue-Merle Australian Shepherd). And, if it turns out as well as I think it can, I'll commission our tres chere amie Kelly P. of Salud Scent Studio to capture its fragrance in a tantalizing perfume worthy of the First Lady of France.

We're sorry you won't by able to join us for the pick but do keep resting that gash in your head and if the doctors allow you to drink a glass of wine I hope you'll do that as we travail. Enjoy the view from the window as we battle against the bees and the yellow jackets and the rising heat to bring these grapes home to the barrel. If, as you did during the Cab harvest a month ago, you are able to bring us a container of your 2009 Meritage wine, or for that matter any year, it makes a fitting winemaker's lunch with a pleasing taste that lasts all afternoon. (Hey Google, when are you going to add scratch and sniff to Blogger?)

(Photos of the Petit Verdot vineyard, vines and berries.)

Good Chemistry, Questionable Grapes

Mike,

I much prefer Coyote Karen as a lab partner, but how could I refuse your request to run an acid test on the Petit Sirah we picked this morning especially after you crushed it and Gatored it over to our place? Thank you.

I apologize for the delay in getting back to you with the lab results. I just returned to the house with Bluey in tow. He had been out chasing she-coyotes in heat, again. (I guess I would do the same if I were him -- after all, aren't all men dogs?) I should have known something was up last week as he began making low moans that grew into howls. I thought he was lamenting the loss of his friend Carlyle, the neighbor's cat, who went missing after an evening outside attending the Coyote's Ball. Instead, it was either an 8-year itch or a mid-life crisis, because for all the years of his life he's never, ever been one to roam. Well, that's what a hot bitch in a fur coat can do to a dog (and a man).

After the harvest I had planned to bring Bluey to the Three Priests for the Blessing of the Animals (if not outright confession for his recent transgressions) as the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals, is upon us. As I was getting ready to leave, the Queen showed up short of breath yelling "Karl Rove" had returned from the dead. (She can't pronounce C-a-r-l-y-l-e; the word comes out sounding like the Republican political strategist, which reminds me of our old friend Joe the Wino -- where is he? Out campaigning with the Tea Party?) Now a cat who dances with coyotes, disappears for a week and was proclaimed a goner but returns is a sight to be seen. He's our neighbor's cat and good vineyard friend. They asked us to look after him but it was like looking after a ghost because he was not to be seen, only a trail of dried blood drops from the cathouse to the woods as Carlyle had been injured just after they left. I went up to the house and sure enough he was asleep under the deck (had he been there the whole week and simply ignored our calls when changing his water and leaving fresh food?) I approached him carefully (perhaps he had rabies?) but he seemed well enough, if a bit beat up and tired. I put him inside the neighbor's house, feed him and comforted him. It was too late to drive to the church service, so (with apologies to the Three Priests for missing yet another church service) we just gave thanks where we were for the bountiful harvest and all the animals in our lives, especially the cats and dogs that survived while playing around with coyotes.

I headed back down the mountain to do your lab work, started a barbecue of sausages (somehow we had forgotten to eat today despite all the work) and then went out and took a sample of Grenache berries to measure their ripeness and to provide a control for the tests. The grill was smokey when I came back and the sausages were darker than a black cat. So much for eating.

I had 3 samples to test. The sample of Petit Sirah (PS) you gave me. The Grenache from our vineyard (as a control), and a sample of PS I took from our share of today's harvest. That sure was one of the most interesting harvests we've seen over the years, a perfect storm of powdery mildew, Pierce's disease and a blasted heat wave that taken together ravaged the grapes resulting in the lowest amount of juice we've ever seen. The mildew had decimated a good percentage of the vineyard, reducing what should have been plump grapes to dried out shells, without flavor nor sugar. And, what were plump berries just a week ago were shriveled by the surprise heat wave this week. Decimated by Pierce's disease and a fraction of its former self, it's become something of a family tradition to travel to Valley Center, the next hill over, each year for this harvest of the Scotchman's grapes and this year did not disappoint. In another chapter of the miracle of Don's vineyard, somehow, grape must was produced again this year in abundant quantity which should yield a barrel or two of distinguished wine. Yet, this 2010 vintage, with all of those skins, is going to present a challenge. Here's my strategy: cold soak for 4 days to extract as much fruit flavors and "soft tannins" as possible. Then, ferment for 3 - 4 days (without extending the fermentation beyond that). Then, pressing lightly (which is our normal custom) to produce a well balanced finished product to be blended to perfection with another grape, perhaps Petit Verdot to make another round of "Petit-Petit."

We were both pleasantly surprised to see that the brix (i.e., sugars) were in good shape ... close to 23.5 and likely to increase nicely with cold soaking because of all the raisins (not to mention skins) which should result in a bold Petit Sirah). And the pH was under control. But as I left, you pulled me aside and whispered that you were getting a reading of .9 on the acid, and would I mind checking it at our place because surely the acid could not be that high? Perhaps your test chemicals were out of date?

I have good news and good news and good news. There's nothing wrong with your testing procedure, nor your chemicals. Of the sample you gave me, I also measured TA (tartaric acid) of .91 with my equipment and my methodology. And, it should be noted that I measured .97 on not such a random sample from "our grapes" from the same vineyard. (For the record, I tested the acid of our Grenache, which was low as expected given the long hang time of this year's harvest.) Although you're concerned that the level of acid of PS is too high, let me share with you some wisdom about brix and acid from a master, my old mentor Angelo Pellegrini (bless his heart) who wrote almost 30 years ago in his book "Lean Years, Happy Years" :

"It has been established by years of experience that ... the sugar and acidity in the must will be adequate if the range is between 20 and 24 percent by volume of the one and .6 and 1 percent of the other. These are the minimum and the optimum.... I have found that when the sugar percentage is 23-plus and the total acidity near .8, the result will be a wine that will elicit the highest praise. Of such a wine we would say that the total acidity and the sugar in the must were in nearly perfect balance."

We are not too far from that my friend, and, with the luxury (and skill) of blending, we can achieve it.

So let us drink to the memory of Angelo, to the celebration of the harvest, to the nubile maidens (those who joined us and to those who dream of joining us some day) who crush the grapes, and to the cats and dogs and coyotes, and to good wine and good friends and our induction into the Order of Wise Old Peasants. Cheers!

Test Results:

Your Petit Sirah Sample: 23 brix; pH = 3.45; TA= .91
Our Petit Sirah Sample: 23.5 brix; pH = 3.54 TA = .97
Our Grenache Sample: 24 brix; pH = 3.55; TA=.56

Brix measured with refractometer.

Editor's Note: We welcome low acid on the Grenache because we have plenty of high acid wine with which to blend. Stay tuned for the Grenache harvest next week and the waiting of Petit Verdot.

Pictures: From top to bottom: 1) Bluey's Call of the Wild 2) Carlyle (aka, Karl Rove) 3) Petit Sirah vineyard in Valley Center, CA 4) Example of Powdery Mildew damage

Oh Hommage to Zinfandel: Can You Help Pick On Friday?

Dear Mark,

Waiting for the Zinfandel acid to drop has been like listening to a continuous recording of Samuel Beckett’s play “Waiting for Grapedot.” As each day passes more of the fruit makes the metamorphosis from berry to raisin; another bird, imitating Luke Skywalker searching for an opening to the Death Star, discovers an entrance and flies into a biosphere of luscious grapes; another chipmunk, less elegant than the skywalker bird, simply gnaws his way through the net and chomps the clusters dry. When that author who wrote “The Sensuous Man” years ago described a certain exercise involving the peeling of the grape, he must have been dreaming of our titillating Zinfandel. (Gentle ladies, this being a family publication, please use your imagination).

Only you, our modern-day Johnny Appleseed who plants Zin vines everywhere in Hidden Meadows and San Diego County you trespass; only you, who makes the annual pilgrimage to San Francisco for the annual Zin festival to gain knowledge about this grape to share with the rest of us; only you understand the mystique of Zin. And so it is fitting we invite you to be Master of Ceremonies for our Annual Zin Harvest.

A correlation of forces has dictated that the harvest commence Friday at dawn, including:

*The brix have held steady (with our judicious application of water to control sugar and lower acid) at 24.5 – 25 brix. The pH has risen to 3.37 and the acid has dropped to .84

*The weather forecast calls for continued warm weather the rest of the week, giving the grapies three more days to increase sugars and lower acid

*If the Queen detects another grape transformed into a raisin, it’s more hell to pay.

Doesn’t it sound like it’s time to you?

Since we were out taking samples in the vineyard, we also pulled 50 berries of the Petit-Sirah to measure.Yes, PS, of which I suspect Merlot Mike himself to be a secret admirer. Her pH is up to 3.54, her acid, has dropped to .72 and the sugars, while hovering close to 22 will undoubtedly rise with cold soaking because one row of grapes is raisins, another is close to becoming so, which is balanced by the longest row, comprised of less ripe fruit, showing a strong kick near the finish line. The time is near. And, with Senior Pedro here that day, why not pull it also?

Some people like to jog in the morning before work. Why not join us for the harvest at the Blue-Merle’s TGIF’s dawn delight instead?

Sweet Grapes, Salty Grapes but Never Sour Grapes

"I want to buy lots of grapes this year," she said, "Lots!"
"Whose going to make the wine?"

"I will."

In mid-August, a long, long time ago, we cut water to the vines in the final stage before harvest to encourage final ripening. The sugars in the grapes were rising steadily and the Tempranillo would be ready for picking in two weeks with the rest of the vineyard following a couple of weeks later in mid-September. Then it struck: a massive heat wave with temperatures approaching 100 degrees and while I kept my eye on the Tempranillo the sugars in the Zinfandel shot up with the once plump grapes turning into soft raisins and prunes. I took a sample of 100 berries to measure the sugar. 26 brix: Too high! I turned on the water in a futile attempt to slow down the ripening and decided to harvest the next day, two weeks ahead of our plan.

No time for picking party. No time for vineyard blessing ceremony. No time to be the perfect host to our friends from France who had just arrived for a relaxing vacation. I sent out an SOS call to the neighbors. It's time.

Merlot Mike said he'd bring the Gator, but called back later to say he had promised to make sandwiches for the tea ladies and could only come for an hour. Coyote Karen was harvesting her own grapes and couldn't help. I didn't have the number for Rodrigo or Augustine. And, as I did my best to spend time with our dear friends from France I wasn't on the phone as I should have been recruiting help for the next day. Well, I thought, being French and the Kings of Wine they ought to be expert pickers and two more bodies would be needed.

At midnight on the last Saturday in August 2009, I sent an email requesting a blessing to our patron the Bishop and pledged a tithe from the harvest. Bluey and I then hiked up into the vineyard holding a solar powered accent light, said our prayers , banged the ground with a shovel to clear away the rattlesnakes (it must have been close to 90 degrees outside, even at that hour) and began the first night harvest (and the inaugural harvest) in the history of the Blue-Merle Vineyard. We worked for an hour, gathered 50 lbs. and returned with our fingers and paws intact. (Friends, it's hard to pick grapes at night with a flashlight. The dog has trouble holding it steady. Next time we'll use miners' helmets.)

At dawn, as I prepared to head back into the vineyard, Snakeman James arrived. He had cleared a monster rattler earlier that summer. "Sorry I'm late. I got your message last night after getting back from an evening with the Commander. Afraid we enjoyed ourselves a bit too much."

"You are our cavalry and savior. Good to see you. Welcome aboard!" I saluted him and gave him a quick lesson in grape picking 101 (rule #1: Don't clip your finger), then sent him on his mission.

Then the neighbors above us Peter & Pam arrived. I hugged her and shook his hand, grateful for the help.

The Queen awoke from her slumber. "I'm calling Fidel."

"You're what?" She hates Fidel.

"It doesn't matter. You can't do this by yourself. You need more people." So she called her enemy who takes Sunday's off. No, he couldn't help. But he gave her Augustine's number. It was 7am by this time. I called Augustine, and he didn't sound pleased to hear from me at that hour on a Sunday. Fortunately, I couldn't understand all the names he called me in Spanish (something about madre and carumba). He called Rodrigo and by 8am they arrived and we were rescued. Meantime, Merlot Mike dressed in a sleeveless yellow tank-top arrived with Mark.

"Mike, why is it that you always where a muscle shirt during harvest?"
"I might get lucky."
"I think you wear yellow so the bees will think you're the Queen and won't sting you." Now we were making progress and the grapes were filling the bins and the bins were stacking up. Since the vineyard is on a hillside I just slid them down the hill, like sledding.

The house guests from France made an appearance and went and picked for an hour. Then low and behold Joe the Wino himself showed up (after Merlot Mike had left because he had to go and make tea sandwiches for the tea ladies) with his 4-wheel drive vineyard mobile and the grapes were coming in and we got the press cranked up and found out the chute didn't function properly (in fact, the stand I was given had no chute) and grape juice started splattering out all over the place except where it was supposed to go but by 1pm we were done and the French guests were back in their chambre resting and the Tempranillo and the Zinfandel had been crushed and everyone was a hero and we were so grateful because we couldn't have done it alone. It was not well planned but we did what we could do to get the grapes in and we survived and more than five months later (in early March as I edit the final verses) the wines have been settling in the barrels and for three-year-old vines the wine is tasting pretty good and I'm pleased and Bluey gives them four licks. In fact, the wine is tasting damn good. That was the first pick and crush of the season and just the beginning.

"I want to make a lot of wine this year," the Queen announced. She said this with the same authority she used 10 years ago when she woke up one Sunday and said we're bringing the children to Church. You couldn't argue against it. I tried to reason with her.

"Who's going to make it?" I asked, knowing it would be me. It takes a lot of work to make lots of wine. She's a 98 lbs. weakling and takes showers and sprays herself with Channel No. 5 before going into the vineyard. She's a vineyardista who doesn't get her hands dirty.

"I will," she said. Yeah right, I thought. "Call Pete right now and ask him for grapes," she commanded. "I want one ton of Nebbiolo and a ton of Montepulciano. I really like Montepulciano."

"How about Agliancio?" We gave up on our own Aglianico grapes this year. Too much mildew damage.

"Yes, that too." So I got on the phone left messages and sent emails and was somewhat surprised it being late in the season when I got the response that our orders had been confirmed.

"Our orders?" I asked. "I was asking if they were available."

"Don't you want them?" Pete asked.

"OK, we'll take them."

Merlot Mike called, "How much Merlot do you want this year?"

"Mike, I've got so many grapes coming in I don't know what to do."

"OK, that's fine. We have too many buyers and not enough grapes and I wanted to give you first shot."

A week later Paso Robles Bill called. "Craig, do you want any Paso grapes this year?" Well the Queen was getting her grapes and how could I give up an option to purchase grapes from Paso Robles, one of my favorite wine making regions. It was the first sign I might be catching "crazy lady disease," most likely infected by our neighbor Coyote Karen who broke every zoning law in the county and every federal regulation protecting wetlands by putting a 40' container in her front yard to house her winemaking operation.

Then there was the annual trip to Valley Center with Merlot Mike to pick the Petit Sirah. "Mike, do you want me to drive up there to test the grapes before harvest?"

"No need to. Don's tested them. Says they're 24 brix. We get them on Sunday."

"Sunday? I won't be here. I need to go to Texas on business."

The Queen said, "I'll go. I can do it."

"Well, you'll have to. I'll be out of town. Be careful what you wish for."

So with me out of town, our women folk stayed behind and harvested the grapes and put the must on ice until I got back. First thing I did was test the grapes. 22.5 brix. Only, 22.5 brix. You don't make bold, award winning kick ass wine with low sugar grapes. I was disappointed but only had myself to blame. Oh well, I'll blend it with some other grapes and it will be fine, I thought. Never again, I said. Next time, I'll do the testing myself.

Crazy Lady Disease is a funny thing. It starts with planting a few vines. The next symptom is you plant a few acres. And the next stage is when you get a container and put it in your front yard and the property values in the neighborhood start to plummet. It happened to Coyote Karen. According to the Centers for Disease Control, the disease can mutate and cross genders.

We had reached the point where we'd had just about all the grape picking, feet stamping and pressing this crush season when Celestial Sandra called and asked, "Would you like our Brunello?" Without hesitation I said yes. She had negotiated this contract with a grower (Bill Schweitzer) in the Ramona AVA for his famed Sangiovese clone of Italy's Brunello grape. We aren't supposed to call it Brunello or the Italian Carabinieri will descend upon our winery and confiscate all the goods, so let's refer to it as "Bluenello" after Bluey, the Blue-Merle Australian cellar master, and yes, a canine, who accompanied us on this most beautiful of picks, him chasing Coyote scat while the Queen and I brought both of our cars to haul away 500 lbs. of grapes. Bill himself was there to greet us with a smile. I hadn't seen him since the great fires of 2007 about which he observed "a vineyard makes a pretty good fire break" and it's a good thing. His residence overlooks the vineyard and a magnificent valley. It's not work to go there. It's a vacation. I could have been in Tuscany, picking these grapes. But I was just 25 miles from home, and when we got back to the ranch I did my measurements which confirmed what I had been afraid of. The grapes didn't taste very sweet when we picked and I sighed as I read the hydrometer: 22 brix. Not ripe at all and I only had myself to blame. Oh well, I'll blend it with some other grapes and make a Super Italian wine, I thought.

After all that effort negotiating that contract and after all the awards they had won making Bluenello in past years, why would the ladies suddenly give it up? Was there tension fermenting beneath the smiles? Were the hours of backbreaking winemaking leading to a quarrel? Was a long-term friendship being tested? Were there sour grapes? The warning signs were there, but those two grape gals had been friends too long to let a little grape juice come between them. There might be a batch of wine or two that turns into vinegar but not a friendship, not in Blue Merle Country.

Next up, the Petit Verdot harvest, the varietal that's so fragrant the ladies of Blue-Merle Country want to spray it on instead of Coco Channel. The 2007 Petit Verdot was so fragrant Salude Scents is figuring out a way to bottle it. For the 2008 vintage, we improved the flavor and complexity by harvesting the grapes a bit later. And for 2009, we tried to harvest even later. This was our third year harvesting at Arroyo Dulce vineyard and we have the routine down and the nubile maidens from the local community college came out and did a foot stomping while Bluey picked up remnants of grape bunches between the rows.

Now grapes for a dog is like rat poison for a human. And by evening he was moving kind of slow and in the morning I thought he was a goner and the least we could do was rush him to the emergency room of the pet hospital. Here we are making some of the finest wine in the region and the trade off is your dog. Bluey is a grape fiend and although we enrolled him in a 12-step grapes anonymous program he fell off the wagon.

We think we're living in a dream world planting vineyards, picking grapes and making wine and then your dog who'd rather chew a grape than a filet minion is in the emergency room, Coyote Karen and Celestial Sandra are about to screech at each other like two felines in heat and I read this story about a couple living an ideal life in winemaking country and the whole thing ends in divorce just as there are tanks of wine and boxes of bottled wine filling up every nick and corner of their house and garage needing to be sold.

This is not easy. I used to say "the family that makes wine together sticks together." On the other hand, the tensions can tear relationships apart. So, I'll refine that to say that the family that makes wine together and sticks together can stick through anything.

The tests showed Bluey's liver was still functioning and he started recovering the moment we took him to the doctor and pulled out the credit card; Sandra and Karen patched things up and the gal who lost her winery to divorce has bounced back and is writing a book about the experience.

Next up were the Guadeloupe grapes, which have yielded some of the best Nebbiolo in the world. There's one word to describe how the Mexican grapes came out this year: salty.
"They're always salty," Pete explained. "You must have the ability to discern the salty taste" he said of my taste buds. That's great, make me the official taste tester, but before committing to buying the grapes. I insisted I had never tasted a hint of salt in the dream 2006 vintage. Ah well, sweet grapes, salty grapes, but never sour grapes. We made the wine, and we'll see how it comes out.

Next up, Paso Robles Bill with the Paso Robles grapes. By this time, everything was organized. We had the crews. We had the trucks. And the Queen was supervising everything. In fact, I was out of town while the Baja grapes were fermenting away and I left the 98 lbs. weakling in charge of punching the cap down and even pressing the juice and it ends up that she pressed more wine than Coyote Karen from the same amount of grapes. Imagine that!

We bit off about as much as we could chew with the Paso Robles grapes and all the crew was there including Fidel, Augustine, Rodrigo and Rodrigo's son (we let Karen hire Fidel). After we finished crushing at our place we went over to the Coyote's to check on things and to help out. (Now it ends up that the Paso grapes were "overripe" and the pH was too high. If you recall we had other grapes that were "under ripe", so by blending we may just come out with something just right.)

As we shoveled the grapes we heard a band in the distance strike up a tune.

"Sounds like someone's having a party," I said.

"Joe the Wino's son is getting married," said Coyote.

"What, Joe's son is getting married? Fidel, what are you doing here? Weren't you invited?" I asked.

"No," he replied. I was incredulous. "You should be over there celebrating Fidel. You practically built that estate," I said.

"Only family was invited," said Coyote.

"Well, if the Godfather could invite Luca Brasi to his daughter's wedding couldn't Joe the Wino invite Fidel to his son's wedding?"

Well, mi casa es su casa and family is family and even if we're not technically family we always felt like we were family out there planting vines and tending the vineyard and picking grapes with Joe and drinking wine with him and joking about getting naked after drinking 1.2 bottles of wine.

"Fidel," I said, "When my daughter gets married, I'm inviting you to the wedding. But, behave yourself, you rascal."

Our work was slowed by picking out leaves from the grapes and everyone was complaining about how slow we were. I became the chief leaf picker and Augustine had a pitchfork and that pitchfork was working very close to my hands and my eyes but I trusted him and we did the best we could picking out the leaves and pitchforking the grapes and dropping them off the flatbed truck directly into the crusher destemmer while the Coyote put on lipstick and supervised. As she powdered her nose a 32-gallon juice filled container on wheels demonstrated Newton's laws of physics and started rolling down the driveway when Augustine leaped from the truck with exclamations in Spanish I don't comprehend and put himself between that rolling container of grape juice and a ravine and kept it from spilling. This time.

The runaway container was a clue to a mystery: How is that with 1,200 lbs. of Nebbiolo grapes our Queen was able to extract 77 gallons of wine not knowing how to use a press while the Coyote, an Amazon woman with the power to press stronger then Merlot Mike and Muleman Jim, barely got 60 gallons? Was she short shipped? Did Fidel spill a container of wine? Did a container careen down the hill? Or, did Fidel, that rascal, siphon off a few gallons to bootleg to Tijuana for a Friday night soiree with a cute senorita?

I suspect an accident. I was a victim of a similar incident as we transferred a ton of grapes from the bottom of our driveway up to the winery. The pickup truck couldn't negotiate the hill so Rodrigo and Armando bucketed grapes from the immense pickbin into smaller containers and then trucked these up the hill to the crush pad. And while I poured grapes into the machine, I heard for the first time that day exclamations in the Mexican tongue I had not heard since I called Rodrigo at 7am on the first harvest day and looked over to see a pickup truck halfway up the driveway with two containers of Paso Robles grapes on the ground and a stream of purple juice flowing down the pavement. Spilled grapes. No sour grapes. "Just pick them up, and hose it down." No use crying over spilled grapes.

We were back on the stake-bed truck and the afternoon was waxing on and Paso Robles Bill was making noises about how slow we were and I was picking leaves and Augustine reached in to pick up a leave and for the 3rd time that afternoon I heard such expressions of the Mexican language that I didn't understand. He had been stung by a yellow jacket.

"No big deal," said Fidel. "I got stung so many times the other day."
"It's OK, it's OK," said Augustine.
"Fidel, you deserve it. But not Augustine," I said, tending to my friend.

We finally finished and we divided up the grape juice and Fidel was pushing the container up the driveway of Coyote Oaks. "Come help me," he called.

"What's the matter? Can't you push that uphill yourself?" I kidded.

I went to help and we pushed the juice up the incline and a yellow jacket landed on my left pinkie and stung me and I let fly an expletive Fidel heard from me for the first time that day.

"What happened?"
"I just got hit by a bee that was aiming for you!" I said.
"You deserve it," he said.
"Why?"
"Because you said I deserved it." I detected his feelings had been hurt. A complaining, no good, cheating son of a bitch with feelings. And he was right, I did deserve it.
"Amigo!" I said. I took his hand and shook it.

At work the next week I was in a meeting with a client and Joe the Wino brought some empty cases of wine into my office (I work for Joe at his high tech company). "Thank you Joe," I said and explained to my client that he was witnessing a case of "trickle down economics." I sell millions of dollars of software for Joe and Joe gives me his discarded empty wine cartons, which I recycle by sending wine to friends. The system works and that's what makes America great. But Joe is pissed as hell because his taxes are going up and he keeps threatening that when health insurance reform passes he's going to cancel our insurance plans so we can go on the government plan.

That weekend back at the ranch the crush is finished and for the first time since the end of August we can relax. The full moon of Halloween Eve is rising and the Queen and the Coyote and Bluey and their servant (me) are enjoying a glass of wine looking at the sun set behind Catalina Island out there in the Pacific.

For the fifth time since Michelle Obama become First Lady and was so proud of America I was even more proud of my wife. She was a winemaker. She supervised the harvest and the crush of the Valley Center Petit Sirah. She supervised the crush of the salty Nebbiolo. She managed the pick up of the Montepulciano and the Aglianico when I was called into important meetings. She pressed the Nebbiolo by herfself and got 75 gallons from the press (while Coyote Karen got less). And, while I was at work, she pressed most of the Monty, the Ugly, the Moudvedre and the Cabernet Franc by herself. And, she even caught her first gopher. Well, if I could teach her how to rack wine, I'd be home free. She said she would do it and she did it.

"Follow me. I want to show you something." And in the amber light under the full moon of Halloween, following the same path that Bluey and I took when we picked grapes under the full moon at the end of August, I lead the two ladies to a spot where I had set a ceramic tile of a blue-moon onto the retaining wall and we drank the wine like water and admired the moonwine and life was good.

The crush season is over and we made it and we're thinking never again but it's a funny thing about that crazy lady disease. It goes into remission until next harvest season and erupts with a vengeance. I haven't heard from Coyote Karen in a while. I wonder if she's in Canada trying to score some frozen grapes to make ice wine?

Deflowering of the Vines

A gang passed through leaving carnage in its wake. The skirts of the vines have been ripped open and are left dangling in the wind. What was neat, tidy, and a symbol of beauty is now askance, a ghost town. The fruit has been untimely ripped from the womb. The virgin vines have been deflowered. To help them recover and regain strength I turn on the water. This too will pass.

Are We Just Vines?

A lot has happened this past week. What started out as green vines with green shoots a week ago now shows yellowing leaves and gives up its fruit. Soon, all the leaves will brown and the sky will gray and the vine will go to sleep apparently barren and lifeless. This gave me pause to reflect about my colleague at work, Marcia, whose healthy husband became infected with a super virus and within a week suffered stroke, kidney failure and is in hospice. A healthy vine, who bore fruit -- two children, a son who graduated from college a year ago and a daughter entering her sophomore year. A week ago, vibrant. Today, withering. Doesn't our life follow the pattern of the vine? And don't we hope for renewal after we have gone dormant? As I think of the promise of renewal I am filled with strength, and smile.

I saw a withering vine with brown leaves and hanging fruit this morning as I walked through the vineyard. The last watering was two weeks ago and the vines are showing stress and the fruit is starting to shrivel a bit in this heat and it's looking riper. Yellowing leaves are to be expected but brown leaves are a concern and I wonder what's going on. There are no signs of Pierce's disease and I look at the ground and see a gopher hole and a gopher could explain the damage and after the harvest I will need to get after the gophers. The berries are ripening and I'm thinking harvest in a week.

I visited the Zinfandel block, which has not had its water cut and was surprised to see that the grapes were shrivelling and getting wrinkled and they were soft to the touch and when I pulled them out none of the meat stuck and I tasted it and it was sweet and I looked at the seeds and they were brown and I said to myself these guys might just be ripe. I took a sample and went into the lab. The "lab" sounds very professional and I suppose it's getting that way as I purchase all the equipment used by professional winemakers but it's really a set up in a garage and my lab bench is the clothes washing machine and the clothes dryer, which I've never used to dry clothes, yet, but it makes a handy work space. The result: 25.5 brix on the "refractometer" which is a technical way to say that the sugars are high and we could make a pretty strong wine with that and on my hydrometer it might read 26 brix and what was supposed to be a leisurely weekend preparing for harvest and entertaining my relatives from France (yes, the Coneheads and yes, they sure consume a lot) and now we're scrambling to get the grapes in because the aforementioned Zinfandel are perfect for picking and it turns out that the Tempranillo are also ready, in fact, their acid is so low and we need to get them in right away but a I have an ace in the whole and that's a section of unripe grapes which are bound to have high acid and this may work out.

The picking commenced this evening under the stars as it's only 87 degrees at night instead of 100+ and I brought a couple of buckets and containers and a shovel to let Mr. Rattlesnake know that we are nearby. It's Sunday and I'm thinking of church and this being the first fruits of the harvest I'm thinking of the tithe and as Bluey sleeps I'm thinking of the apostles in the Garden of Gethsemane who couldn't stay awake and I know the answer why. They were dog tired and they are human and I would rather be asleep too but there are these grapes we need to get in. I suspect Sunday is going to be a long day.